


The Stories in Our Skin

by RelicIron



Series: Mercenary [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Culture, Anxious Arcann, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars, Tattoos, Touch-Starved, two boys being soft, what is it with me and literal hurt/comfort, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelicIron/pseuds/RelicIron
Summary: Tattoos, scars, and quiet explanations. Arcann and Caden are injured after a mission and cleaning wounds leads to some apologies and acknowledgments.
Relationships: Arcann/Male Bounty Hunter (Star Wars)
Series: Mercenary [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833691
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	The Stories in Our Skin

**Author's Note:**

> The mirialan culture is mostly made up, but I like thinking about that sort of thing so I think I got it plausible sounding.  
> [This is a scar/tattoo map of Caden at the start of KotFE](https://reliciron.tumblr.com/post/620864729250955264/i-did-a-tattooscar-map-of-my-previous-bounty)  
> As much fun as it is having Arcann freak out over the PC’s stab wound, I don’t usually see people talk about the finishing blow you gave him on the flagship, so dammit I’ll write it myself.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.”

Arcann huffs in agreement as he and Caden wearily ascend the short ramp to the Mantis.

They’d come to this wretched little backwater in an effort to negotiate for more supplies. They hadn’t expected an attack. Or rather, they knew it was a possibility and were trying to disguise their caution. Thus, only the two of them were sent. Caden of course, since he was the commander, and Arcann because he was the most powerful close range fighter in the Alliance and would compliment Caden’s ranged tactics.

Of course that was the official reason. The one they pitched to Lana and Theron when the question came up as to who would accompany Caden.

In reality, it was simply because they had wanted a bit of time to themselves, even if it was under the guise of accomplishing a mission. They so rarely had excuses to be alone for any real length of time, and it was a relief to spend the long hyperspace jumps together without worrying that someone would see.

Things were still so unbearably new between them.

It had barely been two weeks since their fumbling confessions, and Arcann is still waiting for there to be a catch, some karmic payment that he’d have to make to the cosmos as a whole to be allowed to have something like this.

Caden gives him a tired but fond smile as they board the ship and the sun glints off the tiny scales on his cheek.

_Izax, whatever price the galaxy demanded would be worth it._

They enter into the cargo bay and Caden immediately sets about unclasping his armor and setting it in a tub near the locker to be cleaned later. Arcann does much the same, although his efforts are a bit slower, as he’s unused to the bulky plate and helmet he’d been forced to wear. His traditional white armor being far too recognizable.

“Lemme help,” Caden chuckles softly, as he slips into Arcann’s space and knocks his fingers away from their failed attempt at removing his chest plate.

He can’t help the shiver that works through him as Caden’s knuckles drag over his ribs to undo the clips, but the pleasant sensation is quickly cut short by a sharp jolt of pain.

The negotiations had gone fairly well until a group of pirates had arrived to try to steal the supplies and he and Caden had been forced to defend both the delegates and the goods. They’d managed, but the fight had been ugly with the shear numbers the pirates commanded and the added difficulty of protecting civilians.

Caden jumps slightly when Arcann sucks a breath through his teeth, “What the- what did you-”

Gripping his arm and lifting gingerly, Arcann can hear when he spots the ugly burn high up on his waist where a blaster bolt had grazed him.

“Shit, when did- nah never mind,” he shakes his head before looking up at Arcann in irritation, “why didn’t y’ say anything?”

“It’s not serious, I didn’t want to trouble you,” it was meant as a reassurance, but Caden only looks more annoyed. “You have injuries too,” he tries. It’s not like it’s a lie. Caden has a number of scorch marks littering the weaker portions of his armor where there’s nothing but his undersuit to protect him. A few spots had managed to burn through.

The misdirection doesn’t work.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. I can worry ‘bout you and myself at the same time, it’s called multitasking.”

Caden swiftly strips Arcann down to his undersuit with quick practiced movements, setting the plates next to his own on the floor before ushering him up the stairs. The strong hand on his lower back is both grounding and maddening.

He so wants to touch Caden, but he never knows what is or isn’t welcome, so he lets the other man do as he likes in hopes of discovering what was acceptable. Izax, he was so afraid of doing something wrong, he has no experience with sort of thing.

“Come on, I got a med kit in my room.”

And that’s when Arcann stops dead in his tracks.

When he doesn’t continue on, Caden pauses and looks back at him questioningly, lit up in the blue glow of the holo terminal.

“I… I’m sure it can wait until we return to Odessen, you… please see to your own.”

Caden glares, “That burn is worse than all of mine combined, we’re not waiting for that.”

He fumbles for something else to say, “I’ve had far worse, you shouldn’t worry about-”

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve had worse! You shouldn’t have to-” Caden cuts himself off and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

When he looks back up it’s with such a gentle look it makes Arcann’s breath catch. Caden steps in close and carefully smooths his hands up his arms and over his shoulders to cup the sides of his neck, dragging his thumbs along the line of his jaw. It sends a shudder through him and his eyes slip shut, skin buzzing with the warmth and steadiness of Caden’s hands.

“We’re together now, Arcann,” he says softly, “it’s kinda my job to worry ‘bout you, whether y’ like it or not.”

Caden flashes him a crooked smile and leans up, tugging Arcann down to meet him.

His lips are just as soft as the first time, as every time since, but it still steals his breath away.

All too soon he pulls back and bumps their foreheads together gently, nuzzling his briefly before stepping back and gripping his arms.

“Come on, lemme take care of you,” he says in a soft voice.

Arcann’s protests catch and die in his throat and he swallows hard.

“I…,” he can’t meet the earnest affection in Caden’s eyes with the anxiety bubbling in his gut, “I haven’t let anyone… no one has seen… my arm, the… scaring.”

This was ridiculous.

He was a grown man, he’d ruled an empire, he’d conquered **entire worlds** and laid low the two most powerful factions in the galaxy, and yet he turned into a stuttering mess the minute he was asked to take his shirt off in front of a man he trusted.

_Maybe that’s why_ , he thought.

_I trust him. Seeing the disgust in his eyes, it would cut deep in ways physical injures could never match._

_I don’t want him to see me as some broken thing._

Caden’s eyes go wide in realization.

“You haven’t shown anyone?”

He chokes out a self-deprecating laugh, “Outside of medical personnel and… and Thexan, no.”

Caden softens further, “Ordinarily, I’d say we wait then, but… we really can’t.”

He nods quietly, the injury was painful and he hadn’t been looking forward to letting it fester for hours. It was foolish to try to avoid treating it, and there was little point in fighting any further.

“Hey,” Caden says, with a gentle shake, “I get it. It’s really hard t’ show people somethin’ like this, but… I promise you, I’m not gonna feel any differently after I see them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He smirks, “Be kinda hypocritical, with my ragged hide.”

Arcann huffs a laugh and finally follows him up the second flight of stairs and into his bedroom. Caden still used it regularly, when he was feeling too uneasy to sleep in his room on Odessen (which was often), said he felt safer here. It was because of this that it still looked well lived in. There were boxes of assorted parts on the floor and peeling posters on the walls, all illuminated in the low yellow light of an aging lamp above the messy bed. The whole room smelled like blaster ozone and armstech grease with an undercurrent of evergreens. It smelled like Caden.

The man himself had sat Arcann down on the bed and was currently rummaging through a large cabinet near his desk, only standing back up once he’d found his prize.

The med kit was large with worn corners from repeated use and the label had long since rubbed off the case, but when he opened the lid, it was fully stocked with clean, well ordered supplies.

He quickly picked out what they’d need, mostly kolto-infused burn salve and bandages, before setting it aside.

“Alright, you want me to go first or should you?”

Arcann blinked. He hadn’t thought he’d be given the choice, but he’d be lying if he said he was completely ready just yet. It was the coward’s way out, but he still needed a little more time to brace himself.

“You first.”

“Alright,” he agreed easily enough.

The zipper sounded loud in the relative quiet of the room as Caden opened his undersuit and tugged it off. Beneath it, he wore only a ratty tank top stained with faded brown spots that looked suspiciously like blood. It always surprised Arcann when, despite being decently wealthy, Caden much preferred wearing his old threadbare clothes and battered armor, rather than buy new ones. He supposed there was something to be said about the comfort of familiarity.

The top was damp with sweat in some places, so it needed to be peeled off, but once it was, Arcann was confronted with a whole lot of skin.

The lighter green on his throat extended over the wide expanse of his chest and down his belly to disappear bellow his belt line. But far more eye catching were the scars dotting his skin and the solid black tattoos that covered both pectorals, rounded his broad shoulders, and spread across his back.

A low chuckle told him that his staring hadn’t gone unnoticed, and when he looked up Caden was watching him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That bad or that good?”

Arcann blinked in surprise, _Bad? How could he possibly think he would-_

He shook himself.

“Good, or rather you will be, once your wounds are taken care of.”

Caden snorts, but the tension in his shoulders eases.

He reaches over and grabs a jug of clean water he’d fetched with the kit and wets a cloth to start cleaning the handful of burns that littered his own skin, but Arcann can’t help himself and reaches out to take it instead.

Caden looks up, surprise flickering through his eyes.

“If you wish to take care of me, I’d like to return the favor,” he says softly.

“Alright,” Caden huffs with a smile, leaning back and propping himself up on his hands, “have at it.”

Washing the skin on and around his injuries is a welcome distraction from… everything. Everything currently on display. But the dark ink still intrigues him.

“I didn’t know how extensive your tattoos were.”

Caden winces as he hits a tender spot, and he gentles his touch even further.

“It’s a major part of our culture. The face is just the start of it, and nearly all of us keep gettin’ more until we die. Find and old mirialan, and you’ll probably see full body designs.”

Arcann pauses in his ministrations.

“It occurs to me that I don’t know very much of your people. I had very little interaction with any non-humans before I joined the Alliance, but if you would, I’d like to hear more.”

He hums in acknowledgment, “Sure, ‘s hardly a secret.”

A bottle of alcohol and salve are passed to Arcann for the pair of burns he’d just finished cleaning, before Caden reaches up to tap the ink spread over the wide bridge of his nose.

“Like I said, face is first. A sort’ve right of passage thing when we hit 18 and the general design is pretty regional.”

He pauses a moment for Arcann to smooth a piece of alcohol laden gauze over the burns, inhaling sharply against the burn.

“I’m from Southwest Calla’an on Mirial, a bar over the nose and diamonds under the eyes give it away.”

Arcann makes a mental note to ask him about his homeland later as he unscrews the lid on the salve.

“After the face, there ‘re two kinds you get. Regular ones for age, usually every couple ‘a years- those are the ones on my back- and ink you get for major life events, you know,” he shrugs carefully so he doesn’t bump Arcann as he moves on to another burn, “stuff you’re proud of, or wanna remember.”

“And those are the other ones?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Caden shifts his weight to pat his shoulder, where he has a matching set of large interlocking diamonds, “These are from when they accepted me into SpecOps, when I still served with the Republic. The Pub insignia looks like wings, so I got some feathers.”

He reaches down to rub against his pant leg on his outer right thigh, “I’ve got a carnation here. Always thought the petals looked like a slow motion explosion and… well,” he rubs a bit harder, “seemed a nicer way of rememberin’ the turning point in my life.”

_Right_ , Arcann remembered, _the grenade had landed on his right side_.

“Got this one when I was officially not welcome in Republic space anymore,” he said as he smoothed over a series of long diamonds and squares fanning over his heart, “It’s a Calla’an lotus, they grew ‘round the house when I was a kid. Help me remember home, you know?”

Arcann preferred to stay away from Zakuul, to let them heal without disturbing them with his presence, but it was his choice to do so. He couldn’t imagine being permanently exiled. He indulged, and stroked his knuckles gently over Caden’s side as he taped clean gauze over the burns.

Caden smiled softly at him, “It’s not so bad, Mirial’ll always be home and my old family is there, but,” he pats the right side of his chest, over the stylized but still recognizable mandalorian sigil, “found myself some new family that seem to fit me a lil’ better.”

He laughs and scratches the back of his neck, “Lot of shit’s happened since then, but I’ve been too busy to think about new ones. I’ll just have to catch up, when I get ‘round to it.”

Arcann swallows and lets his fingers graze the upper edge of the skull emblem, near Caden’s collarbone, and when he looks up his gaze locks with bright gold eyes.

“They’re beautiful,” and they are, but more so for the man they’re decorating.

Caden flusters and dips his head a bit as his throat flushes. With how confident he seems normally, the pleased embarrassment is thrilling to see.

“Aww, you don’t need t-... thanks, that means alot.”

Arcann can’t help the soft smile that pulls at his lips, before he remembers himself and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Are there… did I get all of your injuries?”

It clearly takes Caden a moment to switch gears. He nods before seemingly reconsidering, “Actually I think there’s another on my left side, hold on.”

He shifts on the bed, turning until his back is facing Arcann and the twisting a bit further. The burn there is shiny but mild, and doesn’t really require anything more than a cleaning and some ointment.

However once he’s finished and he has a moment to sweep his gaze appreciatively over the extensive design there, he notices a decent portion is missing. A wobbly line cuts off one of the lower groups of diamonds and eats into the pair of lengthy triangles following the curve of his spine. Now that he sees it, the line marks the ragged boundary of a massive patch of skin that’s a good shade or two lighter than the surrounding area and clearly overlays a few other scars, marking it as newer.

“What is this?” he asks as he carefully traces the edge.

Caden stiffens under the touch, and Arcann immediately pulls his fingers away.

“That… um… don’t worry ‘bout that.”

Considering how strained he sounds, Arcann is very much going to worry about it.

He’s about to ask again, when a memory assaults him.

A dark room, lit by the glow of the station beneath them. The unadulterated rage that had been coursing through his veins. The heavy thud of a body jolting up his arm as it was dragged onto his lightsaber and the air became thick with the scent of burning flesh.

“ _Feel THAT, Father?”_

Oh Izax…

“This…,” his voice cracks and he swallows before trying again, “This was… Asylum?”

There’s a beat before he hears him sigh.

“Yeah,” Caden says, sounding resigned, “It was Asylum.”

Arcann is moving before he even realizes it, quickly slipping around Caden and shoving the kit aside to sit in front of him.

Sure enough, an even wider patch of mismatched skin lays exactly where he expected. He suddenly wonders if Caden sat himself where he did so Arcann would have trouble seeing it.

He feels sick.

Hands shaking, he’s caught between watching to touch, and fearing Caden’s reaction, so they just hover awkwardly in the space between them.

Caden’s watching him sadly.

“It’s fine, Arcann, really… here,” before he can argue, Caden grabs his wrist and presses his hand to the epicenter of the patch.

Right where his blade had pierced through him.

His fingers flex almost involuntarily, spreading out and feeling the wall of muscle beneath. There’s a faint divot there, in the center, but despite the injury being easily wider than his hand, Caden is otherwise whole.

“Caden,” he breathes, “I-”

“No.”

He wrenches his gaze up to see Caden staring down at him with his lips set in a firm line.

“Don’t apologize. It was a different time, and we were on opposite sides of a war. That day, if I’d’ve got a clean shot at you, I would’ve taken it too.”

He smiles grimly, “I wasn’t exactly sittin’ around waitin’ to be stabbed, you DO remember I was tryin’ to kill you too, right?”

Oh he definitely remembers. Between the fight at the scion’s hideout, their battle in the control spire, and the long fall to the station below, Arcann had accumulated the most injuries he’d had since the loss of his arm.

It had been a sobering experience, it showed him that he was not quite as untouchable as he’d thought, and it had solidified his obsession with hunting the man down.

“I do remember,” he said, voice wavering, “I assumed that I’d killed you. Not right then, of course, but I didn’t think you would survive.”

He strokes his thumb over the new skin and focuses on the way the muscle shifts with each breath Caden takes.

“When days passed and I didn’t feel my father’s presence return to the Force, I knew you were still alive,” he chuckles weakly, “I was incredibly angry over it.”

Caden snorts above him, “Pretty sure ‘incredibly angry’ was your default back then.”

A laugh breaks out of Arcann, and this time it sounds a little more genuine.

“It was, I suppose, but…”

He balls his other hand up where it rests on Caden’s knee.

“I… tell me how bad was it.”

Caden is quiet above him, and when Arcann dares to look, his eyes are filled with concern.

“Are you sure you wanna know?”

“So long as you’re willing to recall it, understanding the extent of what I did to you seems to be the least I can do.”

His brows pinch together, “You don’t need to do tha-”

“Please.”

That one word seems to pin Caden in place for a moment before he heaves a sigh.

“Alright… alright,” he gently picks up the hand on his knee and squeezes Arcann’s metal fingers.

“I honestly wasn’ conscious for most of it, but Lana told me Koth and T7 dragged me back to the Gravestone and got me stabilized long enough for us to find a Republic station that’d have the resources to care for a mirialan.”

He snorts, “Apparently, she threatened them into helpin’ and keepin’ everything quiet.”

“In all, I needed three full organ transplants, and four partials. Five ribs where totaled and the heat transfer cracked a bunch of vertebra like glass, but they held together well enough that my spinal chord was alright.”

“Figure we’ve got Valkorian to thank for that one,” he grumbled, “honestly, he’s probably the reason I’m alive at all, which he made sure to lord over me later. Couldn’t let his future meat puppet bite it, after all.”

“You nearly died,” he said in a weak voice.

“Uh, technically I did, twice, but they got my heart goin’ again, so it’s fine.”

_It was very, **very** far from fine._

He’s about to tell him so, when rough hands cup his cheeks and tilt his head up. That hard look is back, the one he gets when he’s made a decision and no one is going to be able to dissuade him.

“I’m gonna say it again: We were tryin’ t’ kill each other, you saw an openin’, you took it, and I would’ve done the same.”

The look is edging towards a glare now, challenging him to disagree.

“You gonna do it again?”

Arcann chokes, “What?!”

“Are you gonna do it again?” he repeats, giving his head a minute shake.

“Of _course_ not-!”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

His tone is final, but Arcann struggles not to gape at him.

How could he possibly just **forgive** this?!

As if he can sense his disbelief (and with how perceptive he’s becoming with their bond, he very well might), Caden takes the hand resting on the healed wound and presses it to the side of his head.

“Have a look,” he offers in a softer tone, “I know you’re doing most of the shieldin’ between us, so let it down and look.”

They haven’t actively opened the bond since the throne room, just after it’s creation when Arcann had used it to calm Caden down, but if he’s willing then…

The mental walls slowly come down, and they both flinch slightly at the rush of foreign emotion, but Caden sits still and does his best to allow Arcann’s intrusion.

There **is** anger there, but it’s old and threadbare, little more than a ghostly memory alongside suspicion and fear. Newer and brighter, is an excited thrill, a sort of warm contentment, and something new and soft and fragile that he can’t quite name, but makes his own chest ache in response.

Against all reason, Caden isn’t afraid of him, and truly doesn’t hold the attack against him.

It’s almost beyond belief, but if this is honestly how he feels, then he can’t argue with it.

He’ll just have to do everything in his power to prove worthy of Caden’s forgiveness.

It almost startles him when he feels gentle lips press against his forehead. He hadn’t realized that Caden had moved, but he leans into the pressure all the same.

“See?” Caden murmurs against his skin.

He lets the bond close partially, enough to gather his own thoughts, and swallows hard.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he hums, smoothing his hands up and down his arms.

He wants to melt into the comfort, nearly does, before the deep burn on his side sends a throb of pain through him when his muscles shift. It pushes a wince through his teeth and Caden’s hands still.

“Right, we still need to take care of that.”

It’s said gently, but Arcann tenses all the same.

He’s still not ready, but… he’s honestly not sure he ever will be.

The wound is almost in the worst possible place, the upper edge is less than an inch beneath the plating that anchors to his ribs on the left side. The awkward position, and the proximity to his cybernetics, means that there is no way to hide the scaring while still being able to access the burn.

He’ll be completely exposed.

_But_ , he thinks, _if Caden was willing to let_ _me_ _see_ _and touch the very injury that I’_ _d_ _given him, then surely_ _I_ _can bare_ _my_ _own_.

_And it isn’t like the man is a stranger to such severe trauma_ , he considers as he eyes Caden’s legs and the metal feet peeking out where he’d taken off his boots.

If anyone would understand, it’s him.

Arcann nods uneasily and lets Caden guide him back to where he’d been sitting before, with his left side facing him.

The undersuit he’d been given was a full-body version, so he pulls the zipper down to his waist and, after a deep breath, pushes the top portion off his shoulders to bunch around his hips.

He can’t bear to look at Caden, but with the bond still vaguely open, he can catch the faint impression of sadness and worry, and oddly enough, anger, but no disgust.

“Can I touch?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Arcann nods and struggles with the dual impulse to either flinch away from the calloused fingers, or lean into them.

No one had touched his bare skin like this in over seven years, and right now it feels like the whole galaxy has narrowed down to the hands spread across his chest and lower back.

“Hey… look at me?”

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes, but he opens them and does as he’s asked.

Caden is much closer than he’d thought and is watching him carefully, worry etched into the tense lines around his eyes. His thumbs start to rub back and forth where they’re resting and Arcann fights a shiver.

“Ok?”

Arcann nods wordlessly. He’s not actually ok, but he’s… better than he’d thought.

The surface damage is ugly, but it’s more the inherent shame of being injured at all that truly upsets him. If he’d have been faster, stronger, more skilled, he wouldn’t have gotten caught in that explosion. The scars are a mark of his failure. A reminder that he hadn’t been good enough and that he’d payed for his weakness with the loss of his arm.

His father hadn’t needed words to communicate that, and Thexan’s reassurance had fallen on deaf ears.

He knows what he looks like.

Knows the deep pink and red furrows of tissue that claw across his torso, shiny and melted from the heat and charring of the explosion. The gleaming black steel encases over a fourth of his left side, running from midway between the base of his neck and shoulder, down over the upper left portion of his pectoral and halfway down his rib cage. A thick strut connects the remnants of his collarbone to the plating, all converging at the heavy ball joint of his shoulder and lit up in tiny blue running lights.

“Hey.”

He focuses back on Caden, who slides his hand up from his chest, along his neck, to rest just beneath his skull. The touch feels like needles and fire, like his skin is so overwhelmed by the sensation that it can’t quite understand if it likes it or not.

He’s drawn down to rest his forehead against Caden’s as he hums comfortingly and keeps his hands from moving further, letting Arcann get more acclimated to the touch. Any other situation and he’d feel like he was being coddled, but right now it’s a balm to his frayed nerves.

It’s several long minutes before he feels confident enough to pull away.

“Alright.”

Caden nods, and keeps one hand on him as he assesses the wound, grimacing at what he sees.

“Damn… you really should have said something before,” he grumbles, and his irritation is a welcome distraction.

Arcann looks down himself, and can’t help but mirror the look.

It’s nastier than he thought, with bits of carbon score and melted cloth stuck in the crusted blood and fluid.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that he’d miscalculated the severity, the nerves that close to the plating aren’t what they used to be.

“I think this needs to be irrigated,” Caden sighs, “Come on, I’d rather not soak my bed in disinfectant.”

Arcann follows him quietly to the small refresher.

Emphasis on small.

With two grown men inside, it’s almost cramped, so Caden quickly guides him up onto the counter before fishing out a few other supplies.

“Need to numb you up first, that ok?” he asks as he lifts a pre-loaded injector.

“Of course.”

Catching his metal wrist, Caden lifts it to his own shoulder and squeezes the fingers there before dipping down and pressing the needle tip just beneath the burn.

He doesn’t feel the injection, but he does notice the pain beginning to ebb and breathes a little deeper.

A towel is tucked haphazardly in between Arcann’s hip and the upper half of his suit that lays loosely wrapped around him, and Caden helps angle him towards the chipped sink.

The irrigation spray is cold, and with the numbing it feels vague and disconnected, but he finds himself tightening his grip on Caden’s shoulder as he cranes his neck to see.

“Ok so far?”

He nods as he watches bits of blackened material and dried blood flow down his side and soak into the towel. That Caden had known to put it there spoke of how often he’d likely had to do this.

It was over relatively quickly and he washes his hands before picking up the burn salve and covering the wound in a thick layer.

There is a pause as Caden seems to consider something before he tugs the soaked towel free and helps Arcann off the counter.

He assumes they’re going to leave the refresher, but Caden stays right were he is, blocking the doorway as he pulls out and wets a fresh towel.

A muttered “Hold still,” is his only warning before Caden starts gently washing away the accumulated dirt around his waist, slowly making his way around from there. The rough texture of the cloth leaves his skin buzzing in it’s wake and he is acutely aware of just how close they are in the tiny room.

He nearly jumps when Caden leans forward to reach around and scrub over his lower back, the movement brings them so close he can feel the man’s breath puff over his chest.

It’s almost a disappointment when his waist is dubbed clean enough to bandage, and after a brief internal struggle, he lets his hands rest on Caden’s shoulders as he tapes down the gauze and binds his middle.

The exhaustion of the whole day is starting to catch up with him, so Arcann doesn’t notice when Caden is finished, too focused on the warm skin beneath his hands and the reassurance of having him so close. He only becomes aware when he feels fingers gingerly slide over his chest.

Caden’s lips are pressed together in a thin line as he inspects a scar covering his sternum.

It’s far newer than the one’s he’d gotten on Korriban. Barely a year old. And despite being fully healed, the bright red of freshly formed scar tissue has yet to fade like the others.

“The flagship, right?” Caden says quietly.

“Yes.”

Their battle had been vicious on the command deck. Arcann had thrown everything he had at Caden, and somehow the man had just kept coming. He’d been skilled on Asylum, even then Arcann could admit that, but on the ship he was absolutely relentless, and there was only so long he could parry blaster bolts before some made their way through. It was shear chance that right when his strength was waning, the ship had shuddered beneath them, and Caden had gotten the clear shot he needed.

He’d fired point blank into Arcann’s chest, and at that range, it melted through his armor and burrowed deep into his chest.

It was a miracle that it hadn’t killed him outright, and an even greater one when he hadn’t gone into shock afterward from having his breastplate nearly fused to his sternum.

His mother had healed him after they’d been allowed to escape, but the damage had been severe.

Caden snorts, but there isn’t much humor in it.

“Guess it’d be hypocritical of me t’ want to apologize for this, after the spiel I gave you earlier.”

He’s still tracing the scar thoughtfully.

“Still...”

Arcann sucks in a breath as Caden dips his head to press a kiss to the skin.

“You said no apologies,” he manages. Proud when his voice doesn’t waiver.

He looks back up and gives Arcann a crooked smile.

“Not an apology, just… an acknowledgment.”

One of his hands slips off Caden’s shoulder to graze his knuckles over the lighter skin where he’d stabbed him.

“An acknowledgment.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, and if you guys want to see art or the bullshit I've made up for mirialans, just search the tag on my tumblr at reliciron.  
> Also I'm really sorry this ended up so long, I definitely didn't plan it.


End file.
